


She is More Than Her Thousand Names.

by JustAnotherGhostwriter



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Classic Tropes, Doctor X Rose Fic Event, F/M, Light Kidnapping, Trope: Rescue Mission, Two new made up alien species for your enjoyment, Unovert romance but they're totally in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26874922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherGhostwriter/pseuds/JustAnotherGhostwriter
Summary: Just one more time when Rose gets kidnapped and doesn't need to be saved quite as much as the Doctor first thought. It does give the Doctor the front-row seat to the woman Rose has bloomed into, even if that gives him a conflict between the knowledge that she will one day leave, too, and the knowledge of how deeply he feels for her.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30
Collections: Doctor Who Classic Tropes Event





	She is More Than Her Thousand Names.

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfic on A03 – and Tumblr – was a Doctor Who fic back in 2013. Seven years and 49 fic later and I offer up this as my fiftieth fic on A03, written for the [Doctor/Rose Classic Trope Event](https://doctor-rose-events.tumblr.com/post/620934166155034624/doctor-x-rose-classic-trope-event), for the trope Rescue Mission. Yeah, they’re still my OTP. 
> 
> Title taken from [“My Lady’s House”](https://www.flashlyrics.com/lyrics/iron-wine/my-ladys-house-42) by Iron & Wine, because that song fits Ten and Rose like a good jacket, and because I’m still not over the motifs I clumsily tried to explore in ‘The Many Names of Rose Tyler’ all those years ago. Now we sit and wait in anticipation for Human Resistance Leader Rose Tyler, yeah?

When the Doctor turned his back to help four By’rians with their stall’s computer, his last sight was that of Rose, covered in strands of the glowing M’uut flower, trying to learn the traditional M’uut-blessing dances of the planet. She was making a valiant effort given that the dance was designed for the six-limbed By’rians, and the laughter stretched across her face, set aglow with her flush and the soft light of the bioluminescent flowers, made him grin widely to himself even as he pulled out the sonic to get to work. It was an easy enough fix – the technology wasn’t very complicated, even cobbled-together as the storeowners had made it – and the Doctor took pleasure in sounding very clever as he described what he was doing. The four By’rians asked all the right questions and looked appreciatively wide-eyed and impressed, regularly scuffing the limbs they currently had on the floor in their version of applause.

When he was finished, he basked in their praise while grinning and telling them, modestly, that it was his pleasure to be a help. He’d been to By’r in a before-body and at a before-date, back when they’d been horticulturists and medicine-makers, leaving the trading to the other races who regularly visited their planet. Most By’rians were still cultivists, but some had taken on the role of traders themselves, wary after many years of being given the raw end of the deal by other races who had better technology and better weapons than they did. The Doctor was pleased that, as far as he could tell, the By’rians had only taken technology from visiting traders and not weapons; he knew how easy it would be for another war to erupt with two sides both thinking their narrative of entitlement was the truth.

“Nobody else has been able to fix that for five whole rotations,” Zit’len said, eyes slanting in a way that looked incredibly _coy_. “You are very, very smart.”

“We must thank you in some way,” Zit’len’s parent, Ju’ud insisted, rising to their two back libs so that they stood nearly as tall as the doctor. “Please, look around the store.”

“We must have Doctor stay with us,” Zit’len insisted, still watching the Doctor with that intent look. “For as long as they want.”

“Thank you, really, but we’re just here for a day. We have, uh, other places we have to fly off to. It was my pleasure to help; no thanks necessary.”

“We?” Zit’len’s other parent wondered, tipping their head to the side in the way to indicate that the question could be ignored if it was too intrusive.

“My friend, Rose, and I,” the Doctor clarified. “We just came here because I wanted to show her the M’uut in bloom – but it’s a stopover on the way to – Well. You wouldn’t know the place, actually, so never mind.”

“Does your Ro’se only have four limbs like you?” Zit’len’s sibling piped up.

“Hi’lek!” Ju’ud scolded in a hiss, but the Doctor just grinned at the young By’rian.

“Yep, they do. Rose is the one over th-” The Doctor turned to point out his companion to the curious little one, but his eyes caught sight of nothing but an empty square that was littered with fallen M’uut and petals. Not a single one of the dancing By’rian were left. “Oh,” he said, in surprise, hand falling limply to his side. “Er... they _were_ right there.”

“Perhaps Ro’se would want something from us as our thanks?” Ju’ud pressed, tipping their head to the side.

“Well... Yeah, maybe,” the Doctor conceded, knowing Rose loved taking little, innocent trinkets back for Jackie and Mickey. And lotions that glowed were the sort of thing right up Jackie’s alley, even if the woman would first spend a good hour complaining about being infested by alien glow worms, or something equally ridiculous. “I’ll just... I’ll go find them, and bring them back to have a look.” He scratched the back of his head a little sheepishly.

“We will wait for you,” Zit’len assured him, still with those slanted eyes.

The Doctor thanked the family swiftly, bowed and then headed at a rather clipped pace to where Rose and the By’rians had been dancing, scanning left and right as he did. There was no immediate sight of his familiar flash of sunshine yellow hair, so he turned his eyes instead to the ground. As he’d hoped, there was a trail of M’uut pieces that led from the dancing site off to the South and down another alleyway. This one was empty of the stalls that filled the other spiderweb gaps between buildings, and the Doctor found that odd. There was no particular smell or sign of decay that would mark this alley as undesirable, but it was very obvious it had been vacant for a while. The various-sized pieces of the fallen M’uut flowers tapered off and then ended in the middle of the alleyway, and the Doctor couldn’t discern anything different about the ground or the walls around the spot. He did, however, spot that there was a stall that looked directly into the alleyway, and he was sure that the By’rian minding said stall wasn’t purposefully bustling about and not looking at him standing directly in front of the stall because they’d seen him on his hands and knees licking the alley floor and thought him weird.

“Note, Yi’ir! You have a customer!” the By’rian in the next stall called after about two minutes of the Doctor being ignored.

The Doctor waved his thanks with a cheer he didn’t necessarily feel, and then turned that same slightly too-wide smile on Yi’ir, who was finally, reluctantly, looking his way. “Hello!” the Doctor said, brightly. “Good sunrise brought us this day!”

“And may the moon end it just as well.” Even the traditional greeting was finished with absolute reluctance. “How may I help you, traveller?”

“I’m looking for information that I think you’ll be able to give me,” the Doctor said, still pleasantly. Yi’ir looked away from him. “My friend was dancing the Mu’ut-blessing, but I can’t seem to find where they have gone. I think they, and the other dancers they were dancing with, came down the alley that your stall looks into. Did you perhaps see them?”

“I saw a lot of people,” the By’rian said, warily. “We were busy for trade today... and I have been very busy organising my stall, so my eyes have been averted many times...”

“Well, I don’t think you should do that,” the Doctor said, and his smile was still in place and his words had gotten a very particular tone of calm. “Somebody could rush by and take something from you that is very, very important to you. That wouldn’t feel great, would it?”

Yi’ir did not meet his eyes. “Describe your friend,” they said, stalling.

The Doctor narrowed his eyes a bit but then decided to play along, keeping his tone even. “This high,” he indicated. “Flesh tone similar to mine. She has head-soft-scales that are yellow and longer than mine are. Four limbs only, and she walks on the two back ones.” He knew by Yi’ir’s face that Rose had been spotted, but he still gave the By’rian a chance to come clean easily. “Have you seen a being fitting that description in that alley over there?” The Doctor leaned, very casually, against the stall, using his height as an intimidation tactic. Crude form of intimidation, but if Rose _had_ been taken, time was of the essence. Ironically, he of all beings knew that exceptionally well. “And I would like you to think very, very carefully. Because I’m not going to stop trying to find where she went.”

Yi’ir looked around themselves carefully, and then folded closer to the Doctor, three front limbs arranging wares that could look, to an outsider, like they were presenting different options to the Doctor. He took his cue and looked at a little snowglobe full of glowing Mu’ut and suddenly thought, in a laughing voice very much like Rose’s, that it was delightful that this species so many miles away from Earth had _snowglobes_ in common with humans, of all things.

“B’et of the G’urd has started proclaiming that the Mu’ut-blessings waste too many of the flowers that we could be selling. They have been angry at our increase in price. They once got Mu’ut and products from us for cheaper, but we have been assured by our kind friends from other planets that we are charging fair prices. B’et says that, if we refuse to lower our prices to what their parents and parent-parents once paid, they will ensure we cannot also waste many Mu’ut with our traditions. They have been taking Mu’ut-blessers since the Mu’ut-blessings began this harvest. I saw your Sh’e. They were with those taken this afternoon.”

The Doctor nodded, mouth pinching – this was not the first time he would run into a Gurd, and he wasn’t looking forward to trying to argue with the ambitious, culture-steeped people. At the very least they were not a violent race by nature; Rose was probably being held, but not harmed. “How many have been taken so far?”

“Almost a hundred, some of the whispers say,” Yi’ir said. “Many do not know, because families partake in Mu’ut-blessing together, so there are few who are missing kin at the rise of the moon.”

“What will get their release? Only the drop in prices?”

“I do not know,” Yi’ir said. “Please, do not ask me any more. My Su’ir wants to Mu’ut-bless despite the stories, and I cannot risk... please.”

“I’m going to put a stop to this,” the Doctor promised, firm and, hopefully, soothing. “I just need you to tell me one thing – where did the Gurt make their fortress when they landed?” Yi’ir kept their eyes on the ground. “I will not give your name, no matter what. I _promise_ you that, Yi’ir, on the roots of my family’s trees.” Never mind that any trees his family may have planted over their lives had burned with the rest of Gallifrey; it was the only phrase that Yi’ir would understand, and he needed to be told where to find Rose and the captured others. Gurt fortresses were built with a technology similar to psychic paper; one needed to be _told_ where they were, or they would not be found. “Do you know?”

“No,” Yi’ir said.

“But you know who can help me,” the Doctor pressed. “ _Please_.”

“You do not give them my name, either,” Yi’ir pleaded.

“I won’t,” the Doctor said. “Just tell me where I can go for answers, so I can rescue all those who have been taken.”

***

“Hello!” the Doctor said, chirpily, flashing his psychic paper at the Gurd levitating before him. “I’m the Doctor. I’ve been sent here for the next essential step in the trade agreement between Bet and my employer.”

The Gurd leaned forward, the rocks and sediment that made up its outer protection scraping somewhat with its movement. The Gurd hummed, deep and resonating, as he read the paper. “I am Nin, Son of Dit and Juy, Brother of Tur and of Gil, Guard of the morning gate, Student in military manoeuvres, One Who Has Achieved in the Hut-Guv, One Who Has Not Joined With Another, Top Of Tracking. I greet you.”

He paused politely, waiting for the Doctor to introduce himself properly. And this was one of the reasons he didn’t like being around the Gurd, much – their identity and honour came from their names and titles and the names of those they were closely aligned with by blood or by covenant. And it got awkward, very fast, when all he would offer them was _I am the Doctor, Rider of the TARDIS._ Sometimes, he threw in _Explorer of the stars_ just to stretch it out a little, but, even then, at best it made the Gurd pity him. Most of the time, they deeply distrusted him or thought him lesser, an unfortunate streak of snobbery that made Gurd like Bet handle trade negotiations the way they were currently doing things with the By’rians.

“I greet you!” he replied, still overly chipper. The awkward pause lasted for a few more beats. “Well. May I please be taken to Bet?” he finally said.

Nin looked him up and down, and his very faint telepathic wave was very unimpressed. “I will have Kir escort you.”

He let out a cry that sounded like a rockslide and then looked away from the Doctor to the mouth of the hidden rock fortress, completely ignoring the Time Lord. Presently, from further inside, another Gurd floated up. Nin explained that the Doctor was here to trade with Bet, and Kir, friendly, invited the Doctor to follow her. As they walked, she introduced herself and then waited for the Doctor to do the same. When all he gave was his usual, her friendliness cooled by several degrees, to the point where he was carrying on a monologue by the time they reached Bet.

“This one is here to trade with you, Leader,” Kir explained after loudly bumping a bit of herself with Bet in a sign of respect. 

As the Doctor hoped, Kir didn’t elaborate that the Doctor had said Bet was expecting him, leaving Bet to assume the Doctor had simply wandered up to begin the negotiations the guards thought were close to completing. It made things less awkward when his lie wasn’t discovered early. Especially given the awkwardness that was about to follow.

“I am Bet, Daughter of Bur and Kiy, Sister of Zuk, Tir, Nut and Jid, Past Beloved of Kur, Once Guard of the evening gate, One Who Has Achieved Highly in the Hut-Guv, Champion of the Tix, Hero of the Lid conflict, Soldier of the West Force, Trader, Explorer, Leader of the Gurd East Force and Protector of this fortress. I greet you.”

“I greet you,” the Doctor replied, and wondered if he should throw around _The Oncoming Storm_ in this situation. He didn’t have a _plan_ to get Rose and the other By’rians out, per se, and was winging it by the seat of his pants. Either the title would impress the Gurd leader, or she’d be indifferent by it. “I am the Doctor, Rider of the TARDIS, Explorer of the stars. I am here to talk trade with you, Leader.”

Bet’s telepathic wave turned cooler, and the Doctor wondered if it was too late to add in _The Oncoming Storm_ bit. “Another with such a small personhood,” she said. “The second of today.” Her wave turned curious. “In fact, the first looked vaguely like you...”

The Doctor’s hearts leapt a little – Rose was in there. He kept his cool, turning his smile more charming, hoping that Bet had seen enough humans or humanoids around the galaxy to pick up on what the expression meant. “That _is_ interesting! Perhaps, as we discuss trade, you would be willing to show them to me? I would like to see one like me.”

It wasn’t a _lie –_ he’d love to know there was another Time Lord, somewhere. It wasn’t the Gurd’s fault that humans and Time Lords looked so very similar on the outside. Bet hesitated for only a moment before telepathically gesturing the Doctor down a certain path.

“Why come to me to talk trade, and not the Council?” Bet asked, bluntly, as they made their way toward where the prisoners were being held.

“Because the Council haven’t been here and haven’t seen the planet and its people for themselves,” the Doctor answered.

Bet’s telepathic aura turned confused-suspicious. “Who do you represent?”

“Will you do me the honour of still hearing my proposition if I told you who I’m here on behalf of before I tell you their offer?”

“We pride trade and profit and advancement over all else, Doctor,” Bet said, slightly warningly. “It does not matter who we trade with, as long as they are fair.”

There was a pause in the conversation as they reached a guarded door, and the Doctor was introduced to Kix and Lig, who had parents and siblings and a slew of titles each. Kix turned cold as soon as the Doctor’s introduction was as short as it was – for a race that swore they were not prejudiced when it came to who they traded with, they sure were against being courteous to those without their traditions.

Lig gave him a glance, her telepathic wave curious. “We have recently replaced Jit and Yur on this guard, Leader,” she said.

Bet thanked her and the Doctor was ushered in. He noticed that the guards did not close the door; they were on edge about his presence with their Leader. Hoping to fix the situation as much as possible before he came into contact with Rose, in case she didn’t get the hint to pretend not to know each other fast enough, the Doctor dove right back in to the trade talks he was mostly cobbling together from past peace negotiations he’d made as he walked.

“I represent the By’rians,” he said. “They contacted me to negotiate for them because they feel as though the current trade agreement isn’t – oh.”

The large cell made of stone and wood was empty, and a Gurd was tied up with different pieces of material all joined together. The Doctor recognised the material as the scarves the M’uut-blessers wore for their dance. The tied up guard let out a telepathic wave of urgency and Bet let out her own wave of anger, much further reaching – far enough that the guards at the door started to rush to their sides at once. Bet ungagged the Gurd in the cell.

“Yur let the prisoners go!” he said, anger and betrayal in his voice. “He talked with them for almost his whole shift, and then called me in and stood by while they tied me up and then led them out to safety. The strange-looking one somehow managed to brainwash him!”

“The strange-looking one?” Bet asked, voice cold.

“The one that looks like him!” Jit cried, inclining toward the Doctor. “She got all the prisoners to band together and organised the escape and made Yur part of it.”

In that moment the Doctor couldn’t feel anything except deep pride for his Rose. It must have shown on his face, though, because Bet turned from angry to downright livid, and there were suddenly two other Gurd pressing up against the Doctor from behind, bearing down on him.

“Hold on,” the Doctor started, raising both his hands. “I didn’t have anything to do with – ”

“You are the only two of your kind we have ever seen here. You asked specifically to see her. You come here in the name of the dishonest By’rians, whom she was detained with in honest punishment. And you expect us to not know that you helped plan this?”

“I had nothing to do with her escape,” the Doctor protested, truthfully.

“Where has your kind taken _our collateral_?” Bet demanded. “And our guard?”

“I don’t know.” Again, he was being truthful. Well. He could probably _guess_ what clever Rose would do with a group of escaped, wrongly-imprisoned aliens, but he wasn’t going to do that sort of guessing for the Gurd. Even if they were marching him into the prison cell. “I honestly don’t know! I just came here to try and make trade agreements –”

The once-tied Gurd, now free, stepped out of the cell and slammed the wooden-stone door behind him, his telepathic aura furious.

“The By’rians did not want to talk trade agreements when they _broke_ the one that had existed between our races for generations. They dishonoured us, and will not negotiate. Instead, they sell _our_ flowers to other races who have only just stumbled on the M’uut and do not know its value, its uses, its delicacy.” Bet let out a noise like scraping stones to show her disgust. “They left their kinsmen in this cell for _weeks_ rather than admit to their folly. I doubt they will come for you, soon. Perhaps, if you change your mind and decide to tell us the truth, we will give you more than the bare minimum to survive.”

Bet turned away, and the guards joined her in floating to the door. “I hope your own people come for you, because the By’rians will certainly not. And we have no use but to see you rot, as wasteful as that would be,” Bet called as she left.

The Doctor stared at his cell – all stone and wood and nothing to sonic. Which meant he’d have to spend a lot of time sitting, waiting and thinking clever thoughts, in that order. With a sigh, he slumped to the stone floor and wondered, with a wide grin, what Rose had said to make the Gurd agree to let them all go.

***

Not even two full hours had passed before a very distinct Earth melody began blasting across the Gurd fortress through a telepathic wave. Surprise over a number of things made the Doctor’s eyebrows shoot high into his hairline as he clambered to his feet from the uncomfortable position on the floor. For starters, the TARDIS wasn’t supposed to _broadcast_ telepathically to anybody except him unless it was to translate. And that didn’t _really_ count as a broadcast – not like flinging _Eye of the Tiger_ at high volume around people’s heads did. But then, the TARDIS had developed an incredible fondness for Rose since the incident on the Game Station, to the point where she gave Rose almost anything Rose asked for sweetly enough, like an indulging aunt.

The door opened and Bet came floating in, wary and furious. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I’m not doing this, either!” the Doctor protested, raising both hands. “I’m locked up in here.”

“The By’rians do not have this technology!” Bet snapped, and the Doctor _did_ feel sorry for her – she was a being with mild telepathy that was having said telepathy _touched_ for the first time in her life. No wonder she and her guards were projecting such discomfort and uncertainty and the desire for it to stop. “It must be your doing.”

“Stop!” one of the guards from earlier shouted. “Yur! How dare you – ”

“Hear her out, my kin,” another gravelly voice said.

“Traitor!”

“No. I am acting in the best interests. You must let Leader listen.”

“I am Guard! I will not let this one near Leader!”

“I won’t hurt her.” Rose’s familiar voice made the Doctor’s chest lighten and expand. “Promise. I just want to explain.”

“Please, my kin. Please hear her. Please trust me,” the one called Yur begged.

“Let them come if the strange one has no weapons!” Bet called, impatience joining the slew of emotions simmering from her telepathically. The song was still going, but the volume had, thankfully, lowered some.

There was a pause in which the Gurd presumably checked for weapons, and then Rose stepped through the door, wearing a the M’uut-blessing robes minus the scarves usually draped around her shoulders. Instead, she’d covered up the top with the suit jacket he’d discarded earlier. The sight was endearing and wonderful and made better with how she looked him over carefully for harm, and gave him a grin when their eyes met. Then she looked away and became incredibly serious as she marched up to Bet.

“Leader Bet,” she said, clearly. “I am Dame Rose Marion Tyler, Daughter of Jacqueline and Peter Tyler, Once Partner of Jimmy Stone and Mickey Smith, Shop Assistant, Gymnastics Competitor, Choir participant, Band Groupie, Companion of the Doctor, Traveller in the TARDIS, and the Bad Wolf, destroyer of Daleks.” Rose’s posture was tall and proud, her eyes fierce. “I greet you.”

And then she raised her eyebrow slightly, falling silent and letting Bet decide whether to be polite or arrest her. Bet hesitated, and then greeted Rose back with her full title.

“Yur,” Bet concluded her greeting, turning her attention to the Gurd who had slunk in after Rose. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Yur did what is right,” Rose interjected, firmly. “When you are done listening to me, Leader, and seeing what I have shown him, you will agree. And you will pardon those you took before, and pledge never to take another.”

“You have insolence,” Bet spat.

“No,” Rose said, calmly, “I have better knowledge about this planet than you do.” Rose kept Bet’s gaze. “Are you willing to listen?”

Bet swung around to the Doctor. “Is this part of your trade negotiations?”

“Oh, I have no idea what’s going on,” the Doctor said, very cheerfully. “But I’d listen to her, I would.”

Rose gave him a brief smirk before she went back to being impassive. And then Bet begrudgingly agreed, and Rose reached into the Doctor’s coat pocket and pulled out a handful of M’uut. The flowers were brown, with thick, slightly oozing black lines across the leaves. The usual glow was muted to almost non-existence. Rose held her hand out so that Bet – and the other lurking Gurd – could see.

“This is what happens to a M’uut flower if there is no M’uut-blessing,” she said, almost pronouncing the words perfectly. “The dance may be part of the By’rian culture and legend, but it serves a biologically important role. If you do not let them perform the M’uut-blessing, there will be no good crop for you to harvest.”

She kept silent as Bet looked at the wilted, useless flowers. “How did you find these?”

“There is an abandoned farm just outside this trading post. Some of the prisoners you had here before, with me, knew of it and told me. I went there with Yur to confirm.”

“I heard her talking to the prisoners,” Yur said, quietly, unable to meet Bet’s eye. “And I asked questions. What they told me made me believe it was worth seeing for myself. The condition of getting this knowledge was releasing the transgressors, Leader, and leading them out to be free.”

“They weren’t transgressing,” Rose interjected, firmly, and the Doctor was suddenly struck how ridiculous it was to have _The Eye of the Tiger_ on medium-volume repeat as background music for the talk. “Your trade agreement with them states they must produce good-quality flowers. In order for them to do so, they must bless.”

“They violated the pricing set about between our ancestors,” Bet snapped. “Without discussion.”

“That was wrong,” the Doctor conceded, and eyes swung to him. “They should have realised that their agreement with your people is that binding, and requires careful change. But, Leader, your ancestors did not set an honourable price. Every race is willing to pay what the By’rians are now asking, acknowledging it is fair. I would not think that the Gurd would be the traders who refuse to right a dishonouring practise of the past.”

His words offended Bet and the other Gurd, but in a good way; their telepathic projections told him his words had been the ones needed. He winked at Rose, and she stuck her tongue between her teeth as she grinned.

“I cannot make this decision without the Council,” Bet finally said.

“We understand,” the Doctor replied. “It would be best for the Council to meet with the By’rian representatives to discuss the new agreement and to agree to it, publicly. My work was just to bring this new evidence to your attention.”

“But, until the negotiations are complete, you should not arrest anybody else,” Rose interjected. “Let the M’uut-blessers continue with their necessary ritual. You are traders, not law enforcers.”

“You overstep, Rose,” Bet warned, and the Doctor straightened in alarm for a second before Rose’s murmured apology simmered Bet’s temper back down. “Release this other one,” Bet said, indicating the Doctor.

He strode straight to Rose and scooped her up in a tight hug. “You were brilliant,” he whispered.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispered back, nuzzling into his collarbone slightly.

They let go but stood close, Rose’s hand slipping into his. The Gurd watched this gesture with some confusion, but no question came, so no answer was given.

“Be gone from this place, Doctor and Companion. And do not return. We will not talk trade with you.”

“Understood.” The Doctor bowed slightly, and Rose followed suit.

But Rose did not follow him immediately when he turned to go. “Wait... hold on...” She glanced at Yur. “Leader... Yur’s not in _trouble_ , is he? I – it was _my_ fault he let us all go.”

“I will accept consequences for my actions,” Yur said. Rose opened her mouth to protest, so the Doctor put an arm around her waist and squeezed. “I am confident in the decision I made,” he told Bet, and then slid his eyes to Rose. “I am confident I will not be harmed.”

“He won’t, will he? He brought you good information.” Rose resisted the Doctor’s tug on her waist, looking to Bet for answers.

“Goodbye,” was all Bet said.

“He won’t be hurt, Rose,” the Doctor soothed in her ear. “It’s not the way of the Gurd. Nor is execution. I promise. Come on.”

Reluctantly, Rose turned to leave, murmuring a goodbye to Yur as they went. They did not speak until they were being firmly locked out of the fortress. Then the Doctor tugged her close again, happy to have her found and safe and happy.

“I have some notes,” he murmured into her hair, and she shoved him away playfully with a groan.

“Here we go. Because you can’t ever just say, ‘Thanks, Rose Tyler! Fantastic!’ and let it go, can you?”

“Not really my type of word,” he teased back, and she laughed and bumped his shoulder and slipped her hand back into his as they strolled back to where the TARDIS was parked. “I’m just _saying_. I’d love to hear how _dancing_ helps flowers grow. And why the damaged flowers looked like they had your mascara all over them.”

Rose gave him a cheeky, cheeky grin. “Right, so I _might_ have over-exaggerated things a _little_ for the drama,” she confessed. “But part of the M’uut-blessing really _is_ putting special fertiliser and... stuff... on the flowers. That bit doesn’t _necessarily_ have to be done in the dance but... it’s part of the culture, y’know? It shouldn’t have to fade away.”

The Doctor grinned and noticed the way her thumb stroked absently across his knuckles as they walked. “Does Yur know?”

“Yeah, yeah – he’s in on it. He was against the imprisonments from the beginning. Understands why the By’rians hiked up their prices. But could never do anything about it.”

“So you get wrongfully imprisoned and then commit a crime, creating accomplices as you go? What is this, a modern retelling of _Shawshank Redemption_?”

“It’s stopping the Gurd from being blind bullies,” Rose said, tartly. “And getting your arse out of jail. Some knight in shining armour _you_ are.” She bumped him again.

“Armour clunks. It’s clunky.” He ran his hand over the material of his suit jacket, which just happened to still be on her, over a place that just happened to be her hip. “Which brings me to my next question: the music.”

“I wanted to throw them off. And I really wanted to stage a prison break to an awesome soundtrack,” Rose laughed.

The Doctor joined in her laughter. “That’s all very dramatic and like your mother – ”

“Cheers.” She pulled a face at him.

“ – but it doesn’t explain why _Eye of the Tiger_.”

Rose frowned at him. “Why _not_?”

He shook his head in mock despair. “So many reasons.”

“ _Well_ ,” she said, tossing her hair in mock anger. “When we get back to the TARDIS, you can make a list of all the songs that are _to your liking_ for me to rescue you to. For next time.”

“You think there’s gonna be a next time?” he said, a little offended.

“Oh, I _know_ it. You get into all sorts of sticky messes. And I’m right awesome at saving you,” Rose sing-songed with a tongue-poking grin.

“Too right you are, Rose Tyler,” he replied, more weighty than teasing because he couldn’t help but think of his last face and how she’d saved him, then. Not just on the Game Station, burning with power and love. Not just with the The Nestene Consciousness, swinging on that chain with more bravery than fear right before she’d started to see what was really inside of that heart of hers, buried under monotony. But when she’d stood between him and a Dalek. When she’d held the knowledge of the future death of her world in one hand and his proclamation of having nobody left in the other and had still gripped his fingers and promised him _there’s me_. She’d saved him with her compassion and forgiveness and delighted _aliveness_ as she took in the universe and always turned back to make sure he was seeing it all, too, and not moping. _Rose Tyler? I’m lost without her,_ he’d told her, once, playing it off as a joke when he’d known, known, _known_ how very true it was. Rose’s grin faded into puckered eyebrows of concern, and he made himself grin and swing her hand a little bit, returning to the joking now that the weight of her had been duly felt. “Sorry, sorry – _Dame_ Rose Tyler, Daughter of Jacqueline – ”

“Oh, don’t start,” Rose groan-laughed at him.

“How come Jimmy and Mickey got mentioned before everything else?” he teased.

“’Cause the past always comes before the future,” she said. And then pulled a face, anticipating his reply. “To – ”

“That is the greatest – ”

“– _normal,_ non-alien-y people –”

“ – load of rubbish – ”

“ – you daft man,” she finished, and then began tickling him so he couldn’t win the argument.

He twisted away, laughing, but she gave chase, and her eyes were almost as bright as they had been, shining with the power of the universe, and he wondered with a part of himself – for not the first time – what, exactly, dear Sarah-Jane had told her, because those quiet words had lit something in Rose that he’d never seen before, and it had been growing in size and warmth and _muchness,_ and it was so exhilaratingly beautiful that the memories of so many losses in him were a little afraid of it.

Eventually, she gave up attacking him, and they walked together back into the bustling market. “Oh! Your friends – the ones you helped by fixing their computers. They were the ones who helped me figure out you’d been taken. They made sure to remind you to stop by their stall to pick up your thank you.”

He took her hand again and turned them towards the stall in question, and she went without complaint. “Pick something up for your mum.”

“Oooooh, trying to butter her up, are we?”

“Jackie _loves_ me,” he replied, primly, and Rose simply laughed in response.

They took their time, teasing and poking and shoving gently, as they picked out the best thing for Jackie. Zit’len, enthusiastic to see him in he beginning, retreated after only a few moments of watching him and Rose interact. They both thanked the By’rian family for their generosity and then headed to the TARDIS, and he realised as they stepped inside that his slight discomfort from introducing Rose as _my friend_ had doubled when she’d called himself his companion.

“Companion isn’t the right word,” he said, suddenly.

Rose, used to him jumping to topics at random, only took a few moments to figure out what he meant. “Why not?”

She made a spinny motion with her finger, and he obediently turned around so she could change out of the By’rian dress. He only turned back when his jacket was offered to him. It smelled of flowers and Rose’s favourite perfume from the planet Q45 when he pulled it on.

“It’s just... you do more than keep me company...” he mused, unsure of how to explain it. Not because he didn’t _know_ , but because the words were heavy and damning from a man who did not age to a woman who did.

And then he blinked, because Rose’s smile was warm and soft and gentle and... sad. A very little bit sad. “But that’s my main job, ain’t it? Besides, that’s what... that’s what Sarah-Jane called them. All of ‘em you travelled with before.” Her gaze turned cautious and she licked her lips before saying, “Just ‘cause I’m sticking around longer than ‘em, doesn’t mean I’m not gonna use the same title.”

They were at the edge of some cliff, and he knew what would break if they went over it, so he ran away from it all and instead blustered about the next place he was going to take her, and she was quiet for a moment before making herself step away – always coming after him, she was – and teasing that he would probably not be able to get them to the right place, yet again. He pretended to be offended, and preened when they landed in the right place, and delighted in her breathless awe and wonder at the beautiful, flying beasts in the air. Delight that shifted into some kind of rock-solid, steady peace. He knew he was good at running, but... it felt better when he was running with her. So he walked right back to the edge of that cliff, knowing what would break, and looked at her when he asked, “How long are you going to stay with me?”

Rose looked at him and gave him that sure, small, steady, gentle, blazing smile. “Forever,” she promised, without a hint of doubt in her tone.

And, in that moment, he let himself forget what she was, and focused only on _who_ she was, and let himself believe her.


End file.
